


between the salt water, and the sea strand

by CloudCover (RainyForecast)



Series: between the salt water and the sea strand [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Families of Choice, Found Family, M/M, Magical Realism, Selkies, fishermen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-24 00:58:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14944653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/CloudCover
Summary: Magnitogorsk doesn’t hold much for him. He stares down the barrel of his future there: toiling away at a factory job, living and dying streets away from where he was born. He rubs the water-smoothed stone in his pocket, and thinks of the thunder of the waves. He knows that staying here will kill some essential part of himself.And so, he leaves.For PatriciaKoiFish, I hope very much that you like it :)





	between the salt water, and the sea strand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PatriciaKoiFish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatriciaKoiFish/gifts).



 

 

                                                 

           

 

Zhenya doesn’t grow up near the ocean. Magnitogorsk is about as far from it as you can get. But during the summer he’s fourteen, his family scrimps and saves up enough to go on a modest vacation to the Black Sea.

That summer is also the one when his bones burn and ache, his body stretching into unfamiliar new lines. He spends most nights tossing and turning, unable to sleep. So he goes and sits on the hotel balcony, watching the moon silver the water and letting the susurration of the waves distract him from the shooting growing pains darting up and down his legs.

It stays with him, the memory of those waves, and the smell of salt. Standing hip deep in the surf, feeling the churn and pull of the current. He keeps a smooth beach stone in his pocket when they have to leave, and it becomes a habit to turn it over and over in his fingers when he’s worried, or sad.

And he is, often. Magnitogorsk doesn’t hold much for him. He stares down the barrel of his future there: toiling away at a factory job, living and dying streets away from where he was born. He rubs the water-smoothed stone in his pocket, and thinks of the thunder of the waves. He knows that staying here will kill some essential part of himself.

And so, he leaves.

 

***

 

He spends a few years bouncing around Europe, working as long as employers and visas permit and taking in everything he can. He basks by the Mediterranean and thrills to the fury of the Bay of Biscay. He spends an entire English Channel crossing from Calais to Dover at a ferry rail, heart glad and face turned into the wind.

When he runs out of money in Ireland, it seems a natural thing to take a job on a factory freezer trawler headed out from Cork. The ship is going to be at sea for weeks, but the idea doesn’t bother him.

What does end up bothering him is spending the entire Atlantic crossing tossing dead and dying bycatch overboard. The first time he has to untangle the slender body of a drowned dolphin from the trawl net, he knows he’s getting off at the next port and that he’s not coming back.

They dock in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and Zhenya can’t leave the ship behind him fast enough.

 

***

 

Ditching his job means coming up dangerously short of funds. He receives a stroke of luck, though, when he strikes up a friendly conversation with a guy in a bar who knows another guy who knows someone who needs a caretaker for an expensive vacation home in some little coastal town outside of the city. It’s not any kind of work Zhenya’s ever done before, but his life’s motto thus far boils down to “why the fuck not?” So he takes the proffered telephone number on its soggy bar napkin and decides to try his luck.

 

***

 

The harbor town he finds at the end of his journey is small, but not suffocatingly so. The weather-worn houses are pretty, and there’s a welcoming little restaurant within walking distance of the bus stop. The sign says “Spindrift Diner,” and the inside is cozy, all polished wood and brass, with real, not plastic, plants on the tables. The tall teenage girl who takes his order is friendly, and she recognizes the property he’s headed for when he describes it.

“We call it The Point,” she tells him. “It’s on some land that sticks out into the ocean. The coastline is really rocky, so it’s a pain to get there. Pretty much the only way is by boat.” She expresses concern about him being out there all by himself, and tells him her older brother Jamie will be more than happy to take him out the next morning, as he’s going out fishing anyway. Zhenya thanks her profusely and leaves most of the cash he has left as a tip. The rest he uses to buy a few groceries at the little general store.

He has a good feeling about this place. He’s gotten a lot of looks from the locals— he’s a six-foot-four stranger with a heavy accent after all, but he prides himself on his ability to win people over. And the stares had been more assessing than hostile.

Zhenya’s general policy is to be as open and friendly as possible when getting settled somewhere new, and it serves him as well here as it has other places.  The Viking-esque man he strikes up a conversation with next to a display of breakfast cereal owns an inn not far away, and Zhenya finds himself with a place to spend the night.

The next morning dawns watery and gray, but Zhenya sets out with the waitress’s brother, who leaves him standing on the property’s little dock with a wave. Zhenya watches him until he’s out of sight, and then squares his shoulders, and goes to investigate his new situation.

 

***

 

There’s a small, tarp-covered skiff tied up to the dock, Zhenya is glad to note. The dock extends up over the rocks to a set of steep, rough-hewn steps leading up to a narrow path. The path meanders through a thick stand of pine trees before leading to the house, which is big, situated to have a commanding view of the water. Zhenya’s job is to take care of its weatherproofing and winter maintenance, and he is to live in a caretaker’s cottage set some distance from the main house.

It’s a small, worn-looking little place, but he’s lived in much worse. And when he unlocks the creaky front door and steps inside, the first thing he sees is the sun glinting off the water. There’s a window in the wall opposite the door that looks out over the ocean, and Zhenya falls in love with it instantly.

He’s been wandering a long time, and it feels a little magical to have this tiny place all to himself. There’s a small woodstove and a comfortable looking cot, a kitchen area off to one side, and a door that he finds leads to a bathroom that, while small, contains a clawfoot tub he can’t wait to soak in.

Home, he thinks, looking around at the braided rug on the floor and the gently sagging loveseat in front of the diminutive stove. Home.

 

***

 

The only bad thing about the job, he muses later, is the solitude. Town is a boat ride away, and he’s alone with nothing but the sound of the wind and the water, and the cries of the gulls. The first week, he’s busy working on the house, securing storm shutters and making sure everything is ready for the winter. But after that, there’s little to do, and seabirds are no substitute for other humans to talk to.

He has to go into town on Monday to pick up his paycheck and restock on food. He’s thrilled for the excuse, but not for the boat ride in. He’s picked up the basics of working an outboard motor, but it was in the sedate canals of Amsterdam, not the Atlantic. He hugs the shoreline and makes it to town with shaken nerves, but in one piece.

Penny at the diner gives him a sympathetic smile.

“Make it in okay?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Not a lot of experience with boats, but today water was quiet.”

She frowns as she tops off his coffee. “It can change fast, the weather. Be careful.”

Out the diner window, the main street of the town leads down to the water and he can see it flash and sparkle between the buildings. He imagines it leaden and angry, and shivers a little.

When he leaves the personable bustle of the diner, he considers his options. He’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t come up with something to do while he’s holed up at The Point. On the bus ride into town he saw signs for a library. He’s not going to have an easy time reading anything they have, but he supposes this is as good a time as any to practice his English.

 

***

 

The library is small, and it’s in what used to be a turn-of-the-century home. The uneven floors creak underfoot, and it smells of dust and time. Zhenya wanders from one room to another, pulling down books on seafaring, bird-watching, bright-covered young adult novels, a couple lurid looking paperback romances. He’s not ashamed of loving a love story, and the prose doesn’t look too complicated.

He bears his armload to the circulation desk. There’s a sweet-faced woman with long brown hair behind it, and she laughs gently as he carefully sets down the books.

“Maybe too many,” he says sheepishly. “Little bit bored.”

“You’re the new caretaker for that big house at The Point, aren’t you?” she asks. When he raises his eyebrows, she elaborates. “Not too many tall Russian men moving into town. And Malin, Patric-from-the-inn’s wife, told me about you. Said you were very nice.” Her eyes sparkle kindly at him. “I’m Veronique Larosee, call me Vero.”

 

Zhenya laughs and shakes the hand she offers. “Small towns, yes?”

“Small towns,” she agrees, and eyes the stacks of books. “You’ll need a card. You’re not a resident, or at least not on paper, but I’m not really concerned with that.” She winks conspiratorially at him. “Can’t have you going crazy all alone out there.”

He decides he really likes her, and it’s cemented when she tells him she can see about getting him some Russian language books through interlibrary loan. He could just about kiss her feet.

“Oh, and I suggest this one as well,” she says, adding a book to the stack. “A local author, though they’ve passed on now. It’s a lovely story.“

He eyes the book with interest. The cover reads _Selchie: Tales of the Water-folk,_ and it has an engraving on it of a harbor seal perched on a tumble of rocks.  

“These live here?” he asks, delighted. “Seal?”

Something about his question seems to quietly amuse her, and she smiles. “Oh, sure. Lots of them.”

“I have to watch for them, then,” he says. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. And be careful out there, there’s supposed to be a storm coming in late tomorrow or the day after. Buy enough food and candles, the power out there isn’t reliable.”

He assures her he will, but she still looks a little concerned. “My husband fishes the waters off The Point all the time. I can ask him to look in on you? If you won’t mind the company.”

“Would love,” he tells her, and she says she’ll let her husband Marc-Andre know. Zhenya leaves the library with a tote bag of books, feeling warmed by more than the library’s creaky radiators. This is a good place, and the longer he’s here, the more he likes it.

He is obedient to Vero’s instructions and stocks up on non-perishables and basic supplies at the store. He’s got a lot to haul down to his boat. While he’s stowing everything in the skiff, there’s a burst of noise as a fishing boat comes in to dock further down the marina. Zhenya stands to take a look at it. It’s got _La Belle Veronique_ written on the prow, and it makes him smile. This must be Vero’s husband’s boat.

A couple men have jumped onto the dock to tie down the boat’s lines. Zhenya watches them for a moment, admiring the swift efficiency of their movements. He’s glad no one was around earlier to see him fumble around knotting his own lines to the dock cleats.

When he feels eyes on him, he raises his own, to see that one of the men still on the boat is watching him, balancing effortlessly with one booted foot resting on the gunwale. He’s got dark hair and broad shoulders and he’s not smiling. Even from this far away, Zhenya feels pinned by the look.

He raises a hand in hesitant greeting, but someone calls to the man, and he turns around.

Well. Zhenya can’t expect to win over everyone in the whole town. He settles himself in the skiff, and braces himself for the ride back to The Point.

 

***

 

The waves are a little choppy on the trip home, and the wind picks up even more that night. Zhenya listens to the sound of it curling about the house as he eats canned soup for dinner and settles himself into his cot to read in the pool of light from his solitary lamp.

He chooses the seal book that Vero recommended. The title page informs him it was written by an Yvette Forbes, in 1974. Something about the heft of it, the texture of the linen cover, the smell of aging paper, is compelling.

It’s slow going, and some of the words he doesn’t know, but he finds himself pulled in by it. It’s a strange book, and he soon finds out it’s not about seals, not exactly.

 _There were things he understood,_ Zhenya reads.

_The muscular pull of the deep currents, the glint of silver-sided fish. The heavy blanket of the sun weighing him down as he lay onshore, dozing amidst a herd of fellows._

_What he doesn’t understand, is this New Thing. The way his mind beats against his skull like it wants to push beyond it, the way his body feels strange and loose inside his skin. How his lungs feel tight and his breaths shallow and inadequate. The green press of the sea, so familiar  and welcoming before, becomes suffocating and he hauls himself, frantic, onto the shore. His body is wracked with spasms, seized in a bow of agony. He thrashes once, twice, a third time, before his skin splits and he is born a second time, wet and gasping, onto the sand._

_I Am Something New, is the idea that crystallizes in his thoughts as he raises an alien limb to his face, watching the clever flex of the digits in fascination. Something More._

Seal people, able to shed their skins and walk on land in human form. Zhenya reads until late in the night, and when he sleeps, his dreams are full of the crashing surf, and the restless moan of the wind.

 

***

 

The next day dawns gray and troubled, the sky looking malevolent and the wind’s pitch raised to a howl. Zhenya has good waterproof boots and outerwear thanks to his tenure on the fishing trawler, but he still dreads leaving the cottage to make his last round of the property before hunkering down to wait out the storm.

After making sure the skiff is safely hauled up onto the rocks and checking the main house one last time, Zhenya returns to the cottage to get dry. He wraps himself in a blanket and picks up the seal book again.

He reads until late in the afternoon, and by the time his growling stomach pulls him from his book his head is aching a little from the effort of constant mental translation.

He reheats some food, and makes sure his flashlight and extra batteries are laid out on the little table. The power has been making a few suspicious little flickers and he’s pretty sure it’s going out any minute now.

By seven o’clock it’s pitch dark outside and the storm continues to rage. With nothing to do, Zhenya decides the best course of action is just to give in to his tiredness and go to sleep.

 

***

 

He’s not sure what wakes him. Some slight change in the pitch of the wind’s wailing, maybe. He reaches for his phone on its charger, only to find the battery nearly dead, and the lamp switch unresponsive. The power’s out, then. He curses and fumbles for his flashlight.

He snaps it on and listens to the wind, wondering what it was that woke him. For long moments, nothing seems amiss. And then he hears it, almost lost in the roar of the storm. He might be hearing things, but it almost sounds like the faint cry of a baby. He throws his rain slicker on over his pajamas, pulls on his boots, and braces himself to open the door. He knows it’s most likely the ceaseless noise just getting to him, but the disquiet settling into his stomach isn’t going to go away unless he makes _sure_ it’s just his mind playing tricks on him.

The wind claws at him when he opens the door; and the driven rain pummels him. He braces against it and strains to listen. And there it is again. Faint, nearly drowned out, but there. Zhenya’s blood runs cold, and he shouts out a “hello?” in response. He hears the cry again, and he thinks it’s coming from down by the rocks. He throws himself down the path to the beach, sliding on mud, nearly tripping over tree roots. His flashlight bounces crazily from rain-slick rock to the white foam of the water, and he shouts again.

The answering scream is from his left. He moves that way, trying to balance haste with the necessity of not turning an ankle on the rocks and ending up on his face. He sweeps his light across the beach in front of him, but the rain makes it hard to see.

A few more paces forward and up ahead, his light bounces off something paler than the rocks around it. He lurches forward, and the crying is louder now, clearly human.

His heart nearly stops when he sees its source. It’s a tiny child, a girl, hardly more than a baby. She’s naked, curled up in a ball against a sheltering rock, and Zhenya doesn’t think. He just tears off his coat and calls out to her.

The child moves, turning to look at him, huge dark eyes terrified. She reaches out one little hand for him, and that’s all Zhenya needs. He scoops the child up into his arms and wraps her in his coat. He can feel her shaking sobs against his chest as he peers out into the thrashing darkness, wondering if there’s anyone else out there to find. He shouts into the wind, but there’s nothing. He’s sick at the idea of more people out there, but the baby in his arms needs to get inside some shelter, immediately. He practically runs for the cottage, as fast as rock and wind and water allow.

When the door of the cottage slams closed behind him, he carefully sets the baby on his cot and lights the emergency lantern. He turns in a panicky little circle for a second, then sets a pot of water on the stove to heat. He’s not sure what he’s going to do with it but somewhere in the back of his mind is the idea that that’s what one does in emergencies. He grabs all of his towels from the bathroom and approaches the cot, speaking soothingly to the baby. She’s making sad little hiccuping noises that break his heart, and he croons to her as he gently draws closer and pulls away his wet coat to wrap a dry towel around her. She’s shivering, and he picks her up to hold her against the warmth of his chest. She snuggles in, clinging to his shirt.

“Shhhhh,” he tells her, heartsick. The power and phone lines are down, it’s still hellish out there. He can’t call the police, he can’t go looking to see if there’s more survivors from what he presumes is a shipwreck.

“Daddy,” the baby wails, disconsolate, into Zhenya’s shirt. He can do nothing but pace the floor with her, murmuring in Russian, and when he thinks of it, all the sparse and fractured English currently at his command.

When the water boils, he makes oatmeal. The baby seems to be about two, or nearly so, and while he doesn’t know anything about babies he knows she can eat that, at least. He laces it with milk and brown sugar, and pleads with her to eat just even a little

“Please, little one,” he says, before realizing he should probably use English. “Eat little bit, okay? Help you get warm inside.” He manages to coax her through about half a mug’s worth of oatmeal before she falls into a deep exhausted sleep in his arms. He lays her gently on the cot, and spends the rest of the night pacing, or trying fruitlessly to rest on the loveseat.

He manages to lose consciousness, if not properly sleep. He’s awoken by a little hand patting on his face, and grey light filtering in through the window.

“Daddy? Where?” the baby whimpers.

“We find,” Zhenya promises. He puts her inside one of his warmest sweaters, basically swaddling her in it. Over this goes his waterproof coat. He puts on his regular coat, and hopes for the best.

When he opens the door, the wind is biting but nothing like the gale of the night before.

“We gonna be okay,” he tells both the girl and himself as he makes his way down to the rocky beach, praying the outboard motor in the skiff will start.

Thankfully it does. He eyes the rough water with a sick feeling in his gut, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

He steps into the skiff, grasps the tiller, and curls his free arm tightly around the baby.

“Gonna get you safe,” he promises.

 

***

 

It’s the worst hour of Zhenya’s life. The boat fights him, pitching and yawing in the waves as he guns the motor as hard as he dares. He can’t go as fast as his wants, the water’s too rough.  Salt spray stings his face and everything in him has narrowed to the basic animal instincts to survive, and to protect the vulnerable bundle in his arms.

A quarter of the way, then a third. He meets each onshore landmark with relief. Just keep going. Just a little further.

The chuffing breath of a surfacing animal startles him, and he sees that there are at least two seals keeping pace with the boat. In a boat this small, this close to the water, they seem enormous. One of them rolls, watching Zhenya with one dark eye. A third joins them. Then a fourth. Something about it makes the hair on the back of Zhenya’s neck stand on end. One of them moves closer, and there’s a thud as the animal shoulders the side of the boat, hard.

Zhenya wants to screams at it, but can’t risk scaring the baby even more. He can only apply a little more throttle, praying to every deity he’s ever heard of that they make it to the harbor safely.

 

***

 

When they finally, finally round the jetty at the mouth of the harbor, Zhenya’s whole body goes limp with relief. The seals have gone, and he can see even this far away that there’s people on the marina’s dock, the lights of a police cruiser in the parking lot.

There are people running to him as soon as he makes the dock, grabbing at the boat, pulling it in, shouting. He can only wordlessly unfold the coat from the baby’s face, fingers shaking. When the people see what he’s got in his arms pandemonium breaks out.

“Good god, somebody find Sid,” someone yells. “Tell him she’s alive! Go, go, go!”

There’s a blur of hands helping him to the dock, but Zhenya doesn’t let go of her, curves his body around her instinctively until a man in a police uniform comes sprinting down the dock.

“It’s okay, sir, just give her to me” he says, and Zhenya finally loosens his arms, handing her over to the officer. She whimpers and reaches out for Zhenya and he wants to snatch her back.

“Anyone get a hold of Sid?” the man calls, already turning to stride towards the cruiser. Zhenya follows on cold-numbed legs that feel like jelly. Someone’s got a hold of his arm, but he doesn’t register who.

At the cruiser, the officer leans in to notify the dispatcher on the other end of the radio that “we found Oona, she’s safe, someone just bought her into the harbor.” He looks at Evgeni. “Sir? I’m going to need you to come back to the station with me, to give a statement.” Zhenya just nods, and sits in the cruiser where asked to. He leans his face against the glass of the window and shuts his eyes as they begin to move.

 

***

 

At the station, a deputy takes Oona away to get her in something warm and dry, and Officer Mackinnon sits Zhenya down to take his statement.

About halfway through, the doors of the station bang open, and a dark-haired man runs in. He’s soaked to the skin, and Zhenya has never seen anything like the expression carved into his face. It’s the expression of a man in hell.

“ _Where_ ,” he gasps, leaning against the counter. “Where is sh—” A door opens in the back of the station and the man makes a terrible, wounded sound. “ _Oona_ , Oona, sweetheart— ”

The deputy quickly hands the baby over and her father wraps her in his arms, face buried in her hair. His shoulders shake with silent sobs, and Zhenya looks away to give him some privacy. She’s safe. He slumps back against his chair. She’s safe.

 

***

It takes a while to give the police all the information they want, and by the end of it Zhenya would rather die than get back on his boat today. and somehow he manages to express that to Officer Mackinnon, who is kind enough to walk him over to the inn, and explain to Patric what happened. Zhenya doesn’t have any money on him, but he finds himself quickly marched to a room anyway and practically shoved into a hot shower.

He’s told that they’re going to wash and dry his clothes for him, and to take the robe hanging on the bathroom door. He’s dully surprised to register that his skin feels like ice and that his hair is stiff with salt. He does as instructed, and when he finally feels warm again and steps out of the spay, the bedroom is empty of people. He curls up on the clean white bedspread, nearly insensate in the wash of his fading adrenaline. And somehow, he sleeps.

 

***

 

Zhenya heads to the diner early the next morning. He sits alone at the counter with his thoughts, all dark water and the remembered shocky high of panic.

He’s not alone for long, though.

“Hey!” someone says as they slide into the barstool next to his. The man has puckish features and dark, twinkling eyes. “You were the one who brought in Oona yesterday, no?”

“Yes?” Zhenya answers, a little wary of what the man’s intent it. But the man breaks into a wide, beaming smile and claps him on the back.

“And you’re eating alone, no no no _mon chum_ , please, come and sit with us.” He picks up Zhenya’s coffee cup and practically drags him by the arm to a booth. Seated at it are Vero the librarian, two little girls who have to be her daughters, and Oona’s father, with Oona safely ensconced on his lap.

“Oh! Hi, Evgeni,” Vero says, and she helps her daughters to scoot over and accommodate Evgeni and the man who has to be her husband.

Oona makes a loud, happy noise, followed by some babble Zhenya can’t make out. She reaches both of her arms out for Zhenya, and his heart turns over. He carefully reaches across the table and shakes one of her little hands.

“Good to see you safe with your papa,” Zhenya says, and looks up to meet her father’s eyes. The man looks exhausted, and he’s sitting with both arms wrapped around his daughter like he’s afraid to let go.

“I never thanked you, yesterday,” he says, but Zhenya shakes his head.

“Not need to thank. Not for this. I’m just happy she okay.”

The man smoothes a hand over his daughter’s dark curls. “I”m Sidney,” he says.

“Evgeni,” Zhenya says, finding it somehow hard to look away from the man’s arresting face. This close, Zhenya can see he has the same beautiful hazel eyes as his daughter.

“And me you already know,” Vero says. “This is my husband, Marc-Andre, and our kids, Estelle and Scarlett.”

Evgeni smiles and nods his greetings at them all but the introductions are waylaid by Oona picking up a strawberry from her plate and insistently holding it out to Zhenya.

“Eat,” she says determinedly, and Zhenya laughs.

“No, no, you eat,” he tells her. “Good for you, help you grow up strong.” Her tiny brows furrow in frustration, however, and she waves the strawberry at him again. Sidney smiles at her.

“Is that for Evgeni?” he asks her, voice fatherly and tender.

“Yenni,” Oona confirms with a decisive nod, and Sidney just shrugs at Zhenya. So Zhenya gravely takes the strawberry from her, and makes a show of rolling his eyes in enjoyment as he eats it. Oona giggles, and holds out a blueberry.

“I think she’s trying to say thank you, too,” Sidney says.

“Yenni _eat_ ,” Oona demands, so Evgeni takes the blueberry too, shaking his head.

“Like I say, don’t need to thank. Worst moment in my life. So scared for her. Can’t imagine what was like for _you_.”

Sidney takes a deep shuddering breath, and tightens his arms around his daughter. “Yeah.” The adults at the table all go quiet, thinking about a parent’s worst nightmare.

“So,” Marc-Andre says, breaking the grim mood. “Where are you from, Evgeni?”

“What, can’t tell from accent?” Zhenya jokes, tongue between his teeth as Marc-Andre laughs. “I’m from Magnitogorsk, in Russia. But for last, oh, maybe nine years? I’m leave home when I was nineteen, travel all over. “

“Wow,” Vero says, eyebrows raised. “That’s a long time.”

“Sure,” Evgeni says, staring into his coffee, thinking of all the places he’s been. “Love traveling, seeing the world. Anywhere there’s water, you know? Magnitogorsk— it was so far from the sea.”

“Ah,” Vero says softly. “And now?”

Evgeni shrugs. “Not sure. Staying somewhere longer, start to look good. After travel so long, start to miss...home, even if you don’t really have.”

He happens to look up then, to find Sidney staring at him.

“Will you stick around, do you think? When summer comes and they don’t need you at The Point anymore?” Marc-Andre asks.

“Would like to stay,” Evgeni says, taking another blueberry from Oona. “Good place, here. Good feeling.” He mentally rifles through his English vocabulary for a word close to the one he wants. “Good soul.”

“Well, I for one hope you stay,” Vero says, and reaches out to pat his hand.

“Lobster season starts in April,” Marc-Andre says thoughtfully. “One of my deckhands moved out of town last year to go to grad school. I’ve got a spot open on my boat. You ever do any commercial fishing?”

Evgeni frowns. “I’m come over on commercial ship. But.. didn’t like it.  I spend all day throwing dead animal over the side. Wrong kind, you know.”

“Bycatch,” Sidney says, nodding. “Yeah, that’s the worst part about those big trawlers .”

“My boat is small,” Marc-Andre says.”We fish sustainably, sell to fancy restaurants in Halifax who’ll pay more for that sort of thing. And there are laws about lobster, you know. Any egg-bearing females or ones that are too small?” He makes a whistling noise and gestures over his shoulder with one thumb. “Back over the side they go.”

Zhenya looks from Sidney to Marc-Andre, then out the window to the morning sun sparkling on the water between the buildings.

“Okay,” he says. “April.”

Marc-Andre shakes his hand. “April it is.” He then inexplicably smiles and winks at Sidney, but Zhenya doesn’t pay him any mind. He feels happiness settle in his chest at the idea of staying here, and takes yet another strawberry offered by Oona. Here for the entire summer, at least. It feels right.

 

***

 

Zhenya can’t help but think of Sidney and Oona, all the following week on his own at The Point. So when he walks down to the water one morning and sees Sidney there, standing at the water’s edge, he wonders for a moment if he conjured him out of thin air, if the loneliness is finally becoming too much.

But when he shouts a greeting, Sidney starts, and turns to look at him. So strange, Zhenya thinks. He hadn’t heard a boat all morning. When he draws closer, he can see that Sidney’s clothes are worn and sun-bleached, soaked with water and clinging to Sidney’s strong shoulders and chest. Zhenya, with considerable effort, doesn’t allow his eyes to drag lower.

“You okay?” he says, frowning. “You fall in water?”

“Um,” Sidney says, and makes a vague hand gesture. “Went for...a swim.” It’s sunny today but the late fall day is freezing.

“Need coat, here—” Zhenya is already shrugging his off, and Sidney is raising his hands in protest. Zhenya insists, however, and when Sidney begrudgingly shrugs on the coat, tries not to feel shivery inside at how the shoulders of the coat are strained, and endeared that the sleeves puddle over Sidney’s hands.

“Now _you’ll_ be cold,” Sidney grouses, full mouth almost but not quite pouting.

“ _I’m_ not go for swim. Can get warm in house,” Zhenya says. “You should, also. Don’t want to get— what you call it. Sick from the cold.”

“ Hypothermia. I’m fine, really,” Sidney says, offering a tense smile. “I’m Canadian, remember?”

Zhenya shakes his head  and bites back a barb about not knowing Canadian was synonymous with dumbass. He doesn’t know Sidney well enough to joke like that, not yet.

“Why you here?” he asks instead. “And how? Didn’t hear boat.” Sidney shifts uncomfortably, and Zhenya’s bafflement is joined with hurt disappointment. Discomfort is _radiating_ off Sidney and Zhenya never wants to make anyone feel like that. Even if they’re being an idiot, swanning around in wet clothes on a cold morning.

“Never mind,” he says, and turns to go, shoulders tight. “I’m leave alone, sorry for bother.”

“No— Evgeni,” Sidney says, and catches at Zhenya’s elbow. “No, it’s— I’m on _your_ beach.” Zhenya shrugs, and Sidney sighs in resignation.

“I’m looking for something of my daughter’s. From the storm.”

“I can help?” Zhenya asks hesitantly, and Sidney looks nervous again, but doesn’t let go of Zhenya’s arm. “What looking for?”

“Um. Anything, unusual,” is all Sidney will volunteer, apology tight in the corners of his mouth.

“Okay, Sidney,” Zhenya says placatingly. Sidney’s putting him in mind of a skittish wild animal and he gentles his demeanor in response. “I’m look over here, okay?” he says, waving the opposite way down the beach. Let you know if I’m find anything. “ Sidney nods.

Zhenya picks his way among the rocks, mulling over Sidney’s strange behavior. Small town people, he decides. Faced with an outsider. He’d thought that maybe he’d been fitting in here but—

Something glints silver under the rock he’s just turned over. He moves more rocks, and sees that it’s fur. He tugs at it, and it comes free. It’s the heavy pelt of an animal, silver and grey, spotted with black. It’s beautiful, and he can’t help but stroke a hand along it. It’s not a carcass, he’s surprised to see, just the skin, and he’s wondering how that came to pass. When he shakes it out, he can see that it’s from a seal.

He doubts it’s what Sidney is looking for, but it’s so unusual that he turns to call him over anyway, only to see that Sidney’s already running toward him, bare feet slipping on the rocks. He pulls up short, nearly falling in his haste. His face is white, and he stares at Evgeni like he’s going to be sick.

“Didn’t find Oona’s things, but find this—Sidney? You okay?”

Sidney swallows,” Yeah, that’s not, it’s…”

Zhenya looks down at the skin. “So pretty. Sad that seal die. Should bury maybe? Or—”

“No!” Sidney chokes out. Zhenya stares at him. “It’s not— It’s mine.” He holds his hands out for the skin, beseechingly. Zhenya keeps staring at him, at the naked fear on his face. His eyes go to the water, empty of boats, then to Sidney’s wet hair, then back to the skin in his hands. The words from the book Vero gave him echo in his mind: _something_ **_more_ **.

“ _No_ ,” Zhenya says, incredulous. “Can’t...”

“Please,” Sidney begs. “Give it to me.”

Zhenya thrusts the skin at him like it’s scalding his hands. Sidney clutches it to his chest, and closes his eyes. When he opens them, his face is set like iron, and he stares at Zhenya, waiting for him to speak. He doesn’t deny anything, offers no excuse, just waits.

“Sorry I’m touch,” Zhenya says softly. “Promise I won’t do anymore.”

“I’m looking for one like this. Only smaller, fuzzier,” Sidney says.

“Oh,” Zhenya breathes in wonder, thinking of fluffy seal pups and Oona’s big, pretty eyes. “She’s also?”

Sid looks at him for a long moment. Then nods.

“That’s how she get lost? That’s why no clothes? That’s how you get here—“ Zhenya clutches at his own hair, overcome with delight. It’s too much to take in. He grins at Sidney. The world, he thinks. It’s so strange and beautiful.

Sidney is looking at him like he’s a madman. “What—”

“So amazing,” Zhenya exclaims. “I’m wonder, if that’s real, what else is? _Amazing_.” He’s probably making a ridiculous, starry-eyed expression at Sidney but he doesn’t know how to make himself stop.

Sidney looks down, pink dusting the tops of his cheekbones. “I didn’t even mean to tell you,” he says to the rocks at his feet. “It’s just that nobody’s who’s not family has ever got a hold of my pelt before, and I panicked. We can't go back to the water without it.”

That sobers Zhenya up. “Sorry,” he  says again.

Sidney sighs. “Well, if you were gonna stay around town, you were gonna find out anyway. Especially working on Flower’s boat.”

“Flower?”

“Marc-Andre. A lot of the selkies fish shifted. You can do a lot that way. Herd fish into the nets, check lobster pots without hauling them up—” He pauses. “What?”

“More?” Zhenya asks, delight once again in full force at the thought of _fishing with selkies_ . “ _More_? You say, ‘us’.”

Sidney gives him a long considering look, then seems to give up some kind of internal struggle.

“Yeah,” He says with a sigh. “There’s a lot of us, have been for generations. Most of the town either is selkie, is married in, or just knows because they’ve lived here all their lives and no one can keep a secret for shit in this town.”

“I can,” Zhenya tries to reassure him. “Promise, Sidney. “

“Call me Sid,” Sidney says. “And I know. You smell pretty honest.”

“I’m _what_?” Zhenya exclaims, but Sid has already turned to walk up the beach, shining pelt flung over one broad shoulder.

“We gonna find Oona’s pelt or what?” he calls, and Zhenya scrambles to follow him.

 

***

 

They search until the sun is low in the horizon, turning the water gold. Sid sighs and slumps down onto a rock.

“Still nothing,” His eyes are sad, and his face is drawn. “Not on land anyway.”

“Light going,” Zhenya says. “You swim home? Don’t sharks come out at night?”

“Dusk isn’t the safest,” Sidney admits. “But I’ll be fine.”

“Stupid,” Zhenya tells him bluntly. “Who have Oona?”

Startled, Sid blinks at him. “Flower and Vero have her.”

“Can keep her overnight?” Zhenya asks. “You stay here, get early start tomorrow, look underwater. If not, you take my boat home, don’t be idiot.”

Sid probably knows more about the ocean than Zhenya, but Zhenya is remembering crescent-shaped scars on the skin of an Australian surfer he’d met in a hostel once. “Dusk and dawn, mate,” the man had said. “Never again, I’ve learned my lesson.”

“I’m not leaving you here without a boat,” Sid says. “I’ll stay.”  The simple phrase shouldn’t make Zhenya feel as warm and happy as it does.

 

***

 

Sid looks around the cottage with interest when Zhenya shows him inside.

“Sorry, all I’m have is soup in can, but maybe this make up for it,” Zhenya says, digging a bottle of whiskey out of the cupboard and waggling it playfully at Sid. Sid grins.

Zhenya laces hot tea with sugar and the smoky-tasting whiskey. It’s the best thing ever on chill nights like tonight. The soup may be canned, but Sid’s eyes go wide when Zhenya brings out the rest of the loaf of bread he’d made yesterday.

“Whoa, did you make that?” he exclaims, and Zhenya feels his ears heat.

“This girl I’m know, in Normandy. She find out I’m not know how to bake bread. Don’t tell French girls this.” He grins at Sid. “Kick me out of bed, drag to kitchen. Learn how to make bread at midnight.”

Sid’s smile looks a little strained. “French girls, huh?”

“Best, after Russian girls,” Zhenya says. “Russian girls, French girls. Swedish boys.” Sidney’s eyebrows shoot up, but he laughs, and seems to relax, somehow.

“So you’re a connoisseur or something, eh?” Sidney jokes.

Zhenya shrugs. “I’m not really like being alone. Nice to be with someone, even if just for little bit. My mama, she tell me I’m...what’s called when spend too much money? But with heart.”

“I get it,” Sid says, looking thoughtfully into the glowing depths of the woodstove.

Something about Sid, the quiet night, and maybe the whiskey has loosened Zhenya’s tongue.

“Girl from Normandy. Her name Élodie. For little bit, I’m think, maybe I’m stay with her. But she tell me it’s not right, don’t be stupid.” Sid makes a sympathetic noise. “You know…” Zhenya hunts for the words. “Some people, part of place they live? Make from it? She’s like that. Blood, bones. She know I’m not belong to Normandy like her.”

He doesn’t say that Sid feels the same way to him, even in the short time he’s known him. Like he’s a spirit condensed from the Nova Scotian tide, the roar of the wind, the stubborn land itself.  Like Élodie had been fertile apple orchards, and the briny hum of the Channel. Both of them make Zhenya want, and both make him feel lonely, even when he’s sitting right next to them.

“I’ve never traveled,” Sid says. “But I used to want to. I love it here. It’s home. But just because a place is home doesn’t mean you don’t wanna see what’s out there, eh?”

Zhenya nods, and lets another swallow of whisky burn pleasantly down his throat. “Would stay anywhere, for right person.” He’s been lonely long enough.

Sidney glances at him, then flicks his eyes back to the fire. “Oona’s mom...she didn’t stay. I should have known better. She was here for the summer. A tourist on vacation. Looking for a little local color, I guess.” He laughs bitterly. “We were careful, but, well. There’s always that one percent chance, isn’t there? She didn’t even tell me she was pregnant. Just left at the end of the summer. Shows up a year later, with Oona, all of three months old. She’d shifted in the bath and Steph couldn’t deal. Shoved her at me and told me she never wanted to hear from me or my ‘hellspawn’ again.”

Zhenya gapes, horrified to his core. “ _Worst_ thing to say. How— how the fuck can she not want? Oona is—”

Sid smiles at him, rueful and soft. “The best. Yeah.”

Zhenya makes a disgusted noise, and tops off Sid’s cup with whiskey. “She’s crazy, not know what she’s missing.”

Sid’s expression is open and vulnerable, flushed from the whiskey and the woodstove. Zhenya can’t look away from him, can’t stop the wave of longing he feels looking at Sid’s beautiful mouth and sympathetic eyes.

“Neither does Élodie,” Sid says, and Zhenya doesn’t have an answer in any language for that.

 

***

 

Sid insists on taking the loveseat to sleep on, citing his shorter height. Zhenya wants to do something maudlin and silly, like lie awake and listen to him breathe, but the whisky and his warm blankets pull him under in seconds.

The next morning Zhenya gets up early to make pancakes (proper ones, not the fluffy things North Americans seem so obsessed with). He gets treated to Sid’s soft, fluffy bedhead, and sleepy good-morning smile. It’s a lot.

After they eat, they walk out to the dock. Sid strips unceremoniously out of his clothes, causing Zhenya to quickly direct his gaze skyward. He glances back in time to see Sid, pelt thrown over his shoulders like a cape, dive smoothly off of the end of the pier.

Zhenya can’t see what transpires under the water, but not half a minute later, the sleek head of a seal breaks the surface. Zhenya kneels down at the end of the dock, and grins.

“Hi Sid,” he says, and Sid rolls his eyes at him. He jerks his head as if to indicate that he’s going to start searching, and dives again. Zhenya watches the water for a minute longer, marveling again at the turn his impression of the world has taken, before resuming his search of the beach for Oona’s pelt.

The day drags on with no luck. Sid seems to be working his way around The Point, and Zhenya follows him as best he can on shore. Around one o’clock he walks back to the cottage to make sandwiches. He eats one out on the dock, watching for Sid.

Zhenya’s nearly finished when, in a sudden rush of water, a seal hauls itself onto the dock. It’s got to be Sid, and it has something clutched in it’s jaws. Waterlogged, but clearly a small pelt. Sid drops it and barks at Zhenya, a ridiculous sound. Zhenya laughs at him.

“You find!” he exclaims. Sid-the-seal seems almost to smile back in reply.

Zhenya carefully folds up Sid’s clothes, and lays them on top of the little pelt. Sid picks the entire bundle up in his jaws and looks from Zhenya to the water.

“Go bring pelt back to baby,” Zhenya tells him. “Tell her hi from me.”

Sid nods and slides into the water, pausing to look back one more time at Zhenya, then slipping underneath the surface with barely a ripple.

Zhenya stays on the dock and watches the water for a long time after he leaves.

“You’ve met him twice,” he tells the pained, earnest beating of his heart. “Don’t. Don’t be stupid.”

He knows better than to imagine he’s going to heed his own admonitions.

 

***

 

The Point feels infinitely more lonely after Sid leaves. Zhenya busies himself as best he can, a little disconcerted at the effect Sid has on him, at the nest of feelings stirred up by talking about Élodie.

He doesn’t love her anymore, if he ever did. In fact, last summer he’d swung by France to attend her wedding. Her wife’s lovely, they’re perfect for each other. No. He doesn’t want Élodie. He just wants what she found.

He scrolls through the recent photos on his phone. Marc-Andre and Vero at the diner with their daughters. The sea, the gulls. And one he couldn’t help taking yesterday. It’s of Sid, from behind as Sid looks out to sea. The lines of his back and shoulders look as solid as the rocks around him, and the wind is pushing his curling hair off of the vulnerable nape of his neck.

 _Nova Scotia_ , Zhenya captions it before posting it to his Instagram.

His phone blips with a notification in seconds. It’s Lieke, from Amsterdam. He’d slept on her and and her boyfriend Floris’ couch for two months a couple years ago and they’ve all been friends ever since.

 _Wauw, so that’s where you are!_ She writes.

 _It’s beautiful here_ , he replies.

 _Ooo, lekkerrrrrrr_ she says back, followed by a series of flame emojis interspersed with praying hands, then a peach, because she’s the worst. Honestly.

 

***

 

The weather is growing increasingly cold and fractious. He’s not able to go into town as often as he’d like.

Vero gives him a sympathetic look when he next makes it to the library for another precious armload of reading material. She’s managed to get him a whole series of novels in Cyrillic, and he can once again just about imagine a halo shining above her head.

“You should come to dinner at our house,” she says. “Spend the night, leave early tomorrow morning.”

He pounces on the invitation with joyous fervor.

When Vero locks up the library he walks with her to her house, loaded down with the groceries he wouldn’t hear of her carrying herself.

“So,” she says, eyes sparkling. “Sid tells us that you know our town’s special little secret. That certainly makes things easier.”

Zhenya snorts. “And you didn’t start, with book you give me first time we meet? Reason I’m figure it out.”

She beams at him. “I just can tell with people,” she says. “You were meant to know. You were meant to be here.”

She doesn’t elaborate but his heart beats quicker for the entire rest of the walk.

“Oh,” she calls merrily over her shoulder as she unlocks the side door of a pleasant white clapboard house with blue trim. “I’ve invited Sid and Oona over as well, It’ll be a party!”

 _Oh_ , Zhenya thinks, trying to ignore the leap his heat makes. _Fuck_.

 

***

 

There are three little seal pelts hung up among the jumble of coats and winter gear in the mudroom that leads to the kitchen,. Zhenya grins at the sight of them, the wonder still fresh.

Estelle is dropped off by the school bus soon after, followed by an older woman who has Scarlet and Oona in tow.

“Thanks, Trina,” Vero tells her, and introduces her to Zhenya. He shakes her hand politely. There’s something awfully familiar about her eyes.

“Yenni!” Oona’s wrapped her arms around his leg, and he laughs as he picks her up and sets her on his hip.

“Oona! How’s prettiest girl in town?” he says, and tweaks her nose. She giggles, and twists to look at Trina.

“Gamma! Look, Yenni!” Ah, so that’s it. The woman has Sid’s eyes. She has to be his mother. Zhenya feels suddenly nervous, but Trina smiles warmly at them both.

“I see him, sweet girl. Are you going to be good for Evgeni until your daddy gets home?” she says. Oona gives a dramatic nod, and wraps her arms around Evgeni’s neck, tucking her face into his shoulder.

Zhenya has to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat. He rests his free hand softly on the back of Oona’s head. His eyes catch Trina’s, and she smiles at them, and says her goodbyes, as she has dinner to prepare for the rest of her family.

Oona snuggles into him, playing with the buttons of his shirt and telling him a barely intelligible story about fish, he thinks.

 _Shhhh_ , he once again tells his heart.

 

***

 

When Sid and Marc-Andre troop in, damp-haired and red-cheeked, Zhenya is stirring something at the stove for Vero, Oona still perched on one arm.

“Oh, hey,” Sid says, surprised but smiling. “Who’s got you, baby girl?”

“Yenni’s make cake,” Oona seriously informs her father, even though it’s chowder Zhenya’s stirring.

“Cake, cake, everything is cake with you,” Sid laughs, leaning in to blow a raspberry against his daughter’s neck as she shrieks with laughter.

Zhenya feels his face flush. Sid’s so close, and he smells like salt spray and fresh air and his eyes are shining with happiness.

“Oh my god!” Vero says, coming into the room to kiss her husband. “Pelts in the mudroom, Marc-Andre, I swear!” But she laughs even as she scolds.

 

***

 

Dinner is lively and wonderful. Afterwards the kids run around and play as the adults sit and talk. Sid and Marc-Andre rehash the day’s work: fishing and then maintenance on the boat. Vero tells a funny story about a little old lady coming into the library to check out scads of vampire romance novels.

Zhenya mostly listens. Vero and Marc Andre both have thick Quebecois accents, and even Sid’s speech has a strong Maritime flavor to it. Zhenya is used to hearing all kinds of accented English on his travels but it does require some concentration to follow.

At one point he is gifted a plastic tiara by Scarlett that he gamely wears for the rest of the evening. Sid smiles every time he looks at it, and Zhenya thinks he would wear one all the time just to see Sid smile like that.

Vero poured him a generous glass of red wine earlier, and it always makes him horrifyingly sentimental.

Sid eventually has to take a sleepy Oona home, and he comes into the kitchen where Zhenya is loading the dishwasher for Vero while she gives her girls a bath.

“It was good to see you, Evgeni,” Sid says. “You should let one of us know whenever you’re in town. It’s gotta get lonely after a while out there all by yourself, eh?”

“Very,” Zhenya says, and does his level best not to imagine those words said in a more intimate scenario, not while Sid is standing there with his drowsy child in his arms.

“Should call me ‘Zhenya’,” he says impulsively. “Short name, for friends.”

“For sure,” Sid says. “Goodnight, Zhenya.”

And then he’s gone, and Zhenya spends way too long with a dripping soup bowl in his hands, staring off into space instead of loading it into the dishwasher.

 

***

 

The occasions he’s able to see everyone from town are bright sparks in the dark, bitter cold stretch of the winter. Seeing Sid and Oona is a blow to the system every time, but one he treasures all the same.

There’s a potluck dinner at the house of Sid and Marc-Andre, or Flower’s, crewmate Kris that Zhenya gets invited to. Most of the crew of _La Belle Veronique_ are there, plus what seems like half the town. Patric and Malin from the inn, Hags who owns a bar. A few other people Zhenya doesn’t know yet. They’ve got at least three tables shoved together for dinner, people perched all over the place with precariously balanced plates of food, children underfoot everywhere. Zhenya _loves_ it.

When people are pretty much finished eating and there’s a little lull before dessert, Flower stands up and officiously dings his knife on his glass.

“Shut up, you f—folks” he says, remembering the children just in time. Zhenya sniggers into Oona’s hair where she’s currently cuddled on his lap.

“I know you’ve been here a while, Evgeni—” Everyone turns to look at Zhenya, and he swallows. “And I just wanted to let everyone know that the jig is totally up!” He makes a theatrical flourish. Zhenya frowns at Sid for an explanation, but Sid just shrugs and rolls his eyes.

“Without further ado, some _real_ introductions. You know our names but! That’s not all there is to know, ” Flower continues. He points to himself. “Selkie! As you already know. Selkie! Selkie!” He points to his daughters in turn, then to Vero, who just sips her wine and smiles at his antics. “A goddess! Well, actually we don’t know, so we just call her a wise-woman.” Zhenya leans forward, excited to find out who the other selkies are. He knows there’s quite a few, that Kris is one, but he doesn’t know the others.

“Clan Crosby!” Flower calls. “Selkies, every last one of them!” Sid’s sister Taylor lets out a whoop. “Kristopher! Selkie! The beautiful Catherine! Mer!”

Zhenya’s mouth drops open. Catherine looks the part too, like every mermaid illustration in a picture book he’s ever seen, a cascade of blond hair rippling down her back. Sid grins at him from across the table. He knows how much Zhenya is delightedly freaking out about this. But Flower isn’t done.

“Patric! Human, but secretly a Viking berserker, we’re convinced. The lovely Malin, skogsrå!”

 _What,_ Zhenya mouths at Sid, who just keeps smiling and shakes his head. Flower continues. A couple of the younger crew are selkies as well, a guy called Conor and a curly-headed kid named Jake. As are a lot of people from the Oleksiak and Dupuis families. Hags from the bar and Rusty from the barbershop are human, “probably,” and so are Dumo and Shultzy, but Olli’s a selkie too.

“And finally, Phil—” Flower says, gesturing to a guy who looks like nothing so much as a  perpetually annoyed teddy bear. There’s an expectant pause.

“I’m an electrician?” Phil says, sounding a little confused. The table roars with laughter and Hags reaches over to give Phil a one-armed hug.

“Never change, my friend,” Flower laughs.

Zhenya hefts Oona up so she can lay her tired head on his shoulder, and wishes he could stay forever.

 

***

 

After the potluck is over, Sid and Zhenya leave at the same time. Sid’s offered to let Zhenya spend the night on his couch. It’s not far away so they walk, Oona sacked out asleep in Sid’s arms. The night sky is clear and cold, dusted with an infinity of stars.

“Was really nice, tonight,” Zhenya says, breath hanging in the cold air like smoke. He hopes that didn’t sound as wistful as he feels. “Learn about everyone.”

“Welcome to the town,” Sid says softly, and Zhenya is glad it’s dark so there’s less temptation to stare at his profile.

“What is it, about this place?” Zhenya asks. “Why so many… magic people?”

“Dunno,” Sid says. “Some of the first Scottish immigrants who settled here during the Highland Clearances were selkies. And it all grew from there. Our kind gravitate together. Safety in numbers, maybe. Or maybe it’s just nice to be able to be yourself around people. Your true self.”

“So amazing I’m find this place,” Zhenya says quietly. Sid hums in acknowledgement.

 _So amazing I found you_ , Zhenya thinks, but doesn’t dare say out loud.

When they get to Sid’s place and Oona has been put to bed, Sid asks Zhenya if he’d like a beer. Zhenya has found out that Canadians in general and Sid in particular have appalling taste in beer, but if making his way through a Molson or two means talking to Sid longer, he’ll do so gladly.

They sprawl across Sid’s comfortable living room furniture, and Sid gets to talking about the boat, about his and Flower’s plans for the business. They’re close to being able to make a down payment on a second boat. Sid’s excited about being able to take on more crew, create more jobs.

Zhenya feels….not ashamed, exactly. He’s not feckless, he knows how to work hard. He’s just never had one driving purpose to work on, not like Sid. He listens to Sid go on about sustainability practices and environmental stewardship and can’t help but feel caught up in Sid’s passion. This place, this town: it’s so beautiful that it’s easy to see why Sid wants to fight for its future. To preserve it for his daughter, and maybe her children, and theirs…

Sid laughs awkwardly, startling Zhenya from his reverie.

“Sorry,” he says, his accent charmingly rounding out the word. “I kinda go on and on.”

“I’m like to listen,” Zhenya says. “Lot of English for one night, so my head get little bit tired. But like to hear you talk.” He picks at the label on his beer. “Really good, Sid. Your plan. I’m want to help.”

Sid looks at him for a long, long moment.

“We’ll see,” he says, finally. “If you want— we’ll see.”

 

***

 

When the weather starts to get really, really bad, there are weeks at a time when Zhenya can’t get to town. The selkies aren’t bothered by the bone-chilling cold and rough seas, so Zhenya receives enough visitors that he almost wonders if there’s a rotation schedule or something.

“Vero,” Kris explains to him on one of his visits. “She knows what people need.”

“Can’t wait for spring and summer,” Zhenya tells him. “Be in town, see people more.”

“Good,” Kris says, but doesn’t elaborate further.

 

***

 

Zhenya’s Instagram starts to fill up with pictures of Nova Scotia and his new friends. More pictures of Sid than is probably wise. He can’t help it. His heart and his camera lens have always been both 1. in cahoots, and 2. shit at keeping his feelings hidden.

He’s not surprised to get a DM from a very familiar account one night, after he posts a picture of Sid on the deck of _La Belle Veronique._ In it, Sid’s hair is curling out from under a stocking cap (or toque, as the Canadians insist on calling them), and he’s grinning at Zhenya as he coils a rope on the deck. He’d been in the middle of teasing Zhenya about having his phone out again.

_elodiea : so, darling, do we need to talk about short, dark and handsome?_

**_emalkin: he be so mad if he hear that_ **

_elodiea: everyone is short next to you, he should get used to it :) Anyway. You seem to really like Canada.?_

**_emalkin: kind of like..._**

**_emalkin: magic_ **

_elodiea: OH, really?_

**_emalkin: not like that_ **

_elodiea:  not like that?? Do you want it to be?_

**_emalkin: i like him. A lot._ **

_elodiea: !!!!!! and so??_

**_emalkin: scare_ **

_elodiea: you?? My god. You like him,_ a lot

**_emalkin: hes important._ **

_elodiea: Nour and I will be cheering you on!_

**_emalkin: ))))))))thanks_ **

 

***

 

Little Lola Dupuis has a birthday around the start of November, and Zhenya is invited to his first traditional selkie social gathering. He gets a ride with Sid and Oona, which affords him the opportunity to help Sid get her into her cute puffy winter coat and buckle her into her car seat. Zhenya is probably more bother than help, as he’s a little distracted making faces for Oona to giggle at and threatening to poke her round tummy so that she'll laugh and shriek and grab at his hands.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Sid grumbles fondly. “She’s just gonna strip buck-naked and put her pelt on as soon as her feet hit the sand, I swear to god. “

Zhenya cannot express in words how excited he is to see shifted selkie babies. He’s only ever seen the aftermath. Once he’d arrived at Flower and Vero’s in time to witness the utter fiasco that was the result of Flower letting his daughters take their evening baths in seal form one night when Vero was away. The girls had been sent to bed early, shamefaced and human-shaped, and it took Flower and Zhenya an hour to clean up the mess.

There’s a little protected cove north of town where it seems the local selkies gather for important events. There aren’t any signs, everyone just parks along the side of the road. Sid informs Zhenya that there’s always a lookout up by the road, usually hanging out in the bed of someone’s pickup, whose job it is to keep an eye out and sound a warning if any non-locals see all the cars and stop to take a look.

“Usually whichever teenager’s in the most trouble with their parents,” Sid grins. “People take turns though, so that everyone gets time to have fun.”

There’s a faint path that winds steeply down through brush and trees, until the treeline is reached and the entire vista is visible down below. Two rocky cliffs encircle the cove like a pair of sheltering arms, but the beach is sandy and and the water is calm. There are already people down below, some lighting a bonfire, some presiding over coolers and beach chairs and blankets.

Zhenya can see shifted selkies out in the water too. There are a couple of pups slashing around in a shallow tidal pool, watched over by their parents. and some older selkies further out playing what looks like some kind of elaborate water tag.

Zhenya can hear talking and laughter, as well as the whooping barks of the seals. He grins. He loves the noises they make. There are these cute “Mah! Maah!”s from the pups, and apart from the barking, older selkies in seal form also make these hideous blatting sounds that sound like a chainsaw vomiting. It’s so great.

They pick their way down the sand and deposit the salad Sid had been charged to bring with the older lady marshalling the food table. When they’re done, as Sid predicted, Oona starts bouncing impatiently up and down.

“Daddy! Swim!” she cries, tugging at her clothes. “Swim!” Sid rolls his eyes.

“Let me go wrangle this little monster,” he say affectionately, leaving Zhenya to warm up by the bonfire.

He’s met Sid’s sister Taylor before, but he still feels a little nervous when she spots him from across the fire and comes over to hip check him.

“Hey new guy!” she says, with the same wide, bright smile as Sid.  

“How many month I’m be here, now? Still gonna call?” he pretends to whine.

“Once you make it through a winter, I might reconsider” she says, laughing. “How’s The Point treating you?”

“Too quiet,” Zhenya admits.

“Well, this should help,” she says, gesturing around. There’s a lot of people here, it seems selkies don’t do celebrations by halves.

“Here we go,” Sid announces, arriving back at Zhenya’s side with an armful of excitedly[ wriggling seal pup ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9_UZ-8Uc2s).

Zhenya’s eyes go wide. “Oh, my _god_ ,” he breathes. Oona shifted is the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He is quite possible going to die from how cute she is.

“There she _is_ ,” Taylor croons, and holds out her arms. “I’ll watch her for a while, Squid, you go make the rounds. Aunt Carol wants to be introduced to Evgeni.”

“And why is that my job?” Sid asks good-naturedly, but Taylor just grins.

“Come on, baby girl,” she tells Oona. “Let’s go for a swim!”

“Not too far out,” Sid interjects with a worried frown. “Maybe just the pools?” Taylor’s expression softens.

“It’ll be okay, big brother,” she tells him. “I’ll be right there.”

“Still worry?” Zhenya asks him after she leaves.

Sid shakes his head. “Part of the territory, but the night of the storm just made things that much worse. God, I still don’t know how she got away and down to the water, much less how she ended up all the way down by you.” He looks up at Zhenya. “I’m just so grateful you were there.” Zhenya smiles, and has to look away, into the fire. He can’t handle Sid’s eyes when they’re looking so intensely and sincerely into his.

It’s cold, so the humans stay near the fire, but Zhenya takes some time to go splash around the tide pools with Oona and look for fat orange starfish and little scuttling shore crabs among the rocks.

Later he learns about s’mores and eats enough to get a stomachache. He licks marshmallow and chocolate off his fingers, and sings “Happy Birthday” to Lola with everyone.

A wizened little old lady stands up to sing a traditional selkie blessing in a haunting language Zhenya doesn’t know. The melody dips and rises like gulls on the wind, and it makes the hair on the back of Zhenya’s neck stand on end. Next to him, Sid hums along, deep in his chest.

“Thank you,” Zhenya says quietly to Sid, on the trek back up to Sid’s truck. “For have me come.”

“For sure,” Sid answers.

 

***

 

He goes out to Hag’s bar _The Sea Witch_ one night with Flower, Vero, and Sid.

Sid doesn’t seem to be minding Zhenya’s arm stretched out on top of the booth behind him. There’s good beer (at _last_ ) on tap and fun music playing over the sound system. It’s almost Zhenya’s idea of a perfect night.

At one point, a slower song comes on. Zhenya’s pretty sure it’s “Don’t Want To Miss A Thing” by Aerosmith, and Flower sits bolt upright at the sound of the opening bars.

“ _Vero_ ,” he says, eyes bright.

“Oh no,” she says. “No, no no no—” But she’s laughing as she says it, and she lets Flower tug her up out of the booth.

“You’re so _cheesy_ ,” she groans. “Terrible.” But she takes Flower’s hand and puts her other hand on his shoulder as he sways her to the music.

“This is our song!” he insists, grinning.

“It is _not_ ,” she retorts, but lays her head on Flower’s shoulder anyway.

Zhenya can’t stop watching, even though he feels like maybe he shouldn’t be. He watches the puckish smirk on Flower’s face melt into something softer. More tender. Watches as he slides his arm further around Vero’s waist to pull her closer. They radiate devoted, comfortable love.

Zhenya’s chest hurts. Zhenya risks a sidelong glance down at Sid. A few inches more, and he’d be leaning back onto Zhenya’s arm. Zhenya wants to let his arm curl around him, let his fingers brush Sid’s shoulder, but he doesn’t.

“Nice, right?” Sid says, sounding far away. Zhenya can’t see his whole face but he can see the rueful twist at the corner of his mouth.

“Best,” Zhenya says. Then, impulsively: “Do you want to dance?”

“Do I what?” Sid says as he whips around to face Zhenya. The song playing has changed, it’s something pop-y and fun. A few other couples have jumped to their feet, inspired by Flower and Vero.

“Oh,” Sid says, gazing up at Zhenya. “You were serious.”

It’s hard to swallow all of a sudden. “Sure. Want to dance with you. People...don’t like, here?”

“Oh, no, nobody cares. Selkies...we don’t get hung up on things like that.” Sid’s studying Zhenya like he’s a puzzle Sid can’t quite work out. “If you want to, I guess…”

Zhenya pounces on the opportunity. He slides out of the booth, and holds his hand out, adrenaline pumping both out of fear Sid will change his mind and excitement that Zhenya’s going to be able to _touch_ him.

Sid takes his hand.

His waist is solid and strong where Zhenya’s palm rests on it, and he can feel the heat of Sid’s body through the thin black V-neck he’s wearing. Zhenya doesn’t pull him close like Flower did to Vero, much as he wants to.

He can’t help but notice, though, that Sid’s just short enough that, would he hold him, his head would tuck perfectly under Zhenya’s chin.

Sid looks up at him, and Zhenya attempts a carefree smile. He pushes Sid out in a spin, making him roll his eyes and laugh.

On a turn, he notices Hags leaning on the bar, phone poised in his hand. He grins at Zhenya, winks, and taps the screen as the current, fast-paced song fades out.

Shit. It’s a [ ballad ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=raNGeq3_DtM). Fucker.

Somehow, Zhenya’s hand’s moved from Sid’s side to press against his lower back. After that spin, Sid’s suddenly a lot closer.

He’s not looking at Zhenya, but he’s not moving away. His hand on Zhenya’s shoulder tightens for a second, then relaxes.

Zhenya can’t tear his eyes from Sid as the lyrics wash over him, all about loneliness and begging someone to love you. He tugs, just a little, on Sid’s hand in invitation. Sid moves closer. Zhenya could move just a fraction more, and kiss his temple, rest his cheek against Sid’s hair. He doesn’t, just closes his eyes. He knows how to flirt, how to seduce, even. He’s done it many times. He doesn’t know why with Sid, he just can’t. He’s never been this scared of rejection before.

He opens his eyes. when the chorus swells, catching Vero’s gaze. She’s looking at him over Flower’s shoulder, arms now wrapped around Flower’s neck. Her eyes are soft and sympathetic. She smiles, and nods gently, before closing her eyes and resting her head back against Flower’s.

 _Vero always knows,_ Zhenya tells himself. Daring to hope, he pulls Sid that incremental bit closer, rests his cheek on Sid’s dark curls. He feels him take a sharp breath, and then Sid _melts_ into Zhenya’s arms.

When the song changes again, they stand still a moment, frozen in place. Then Sid pulls back, and Zhenya lets him go.  

Instead of going back to their booth, Sid goes out the door, without even stopping for his coat. Zhenya’s chest feels like it’s flooded with ice water.  Still after a second he scoops up Sid’s jacket and runs out after him.

Sid’s walking down the street outside, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched.

Zhenya shouts his name, and holds out his jacket. “At least take,” he says, voice wrecked and miserable. “Cold.” Sid makes a strange noise that’s almost a laugh.

“Sorry,” Zhenya says, as Sid takes his jacket. Zhenya doesn’t let go of his end of it right away. “Sorry for—” He stops. He isn’t sure what to apologize for.

“Fuck, no, don’t apologize,” Sid says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not— “ Zhenya waits. But Sid doesn’t finish.

So Zhenya takes Sid’s jacket from his hands and throws it around Sid’s shoulders. Sid sways closer to him, like he had during their dance.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and leans up, and kisses Zhenya, hard and desperate.

Zhenya’s mind is a roar of white noise and he can’t move, can’t do anything, for a second. Then he surges forward, cupping Sid’s face in his hands, groaning as he kisses Sid back. For one heady, impossible moment, there’s Sid’s body against him, Sid’s soft lips on his. It’s everything Zhenya has yearned for in his most honest moments.

And then Sid jerks himself away, steps back. His chest is heaving and his lips are so, so red. But the look in his eyes is…

“This was a mistake,” Sid says, and Zhenya is hit with an almost physical wave of pain.

“I need to pick Oona up from my mom’s,” is all Sid says. And then, he’s gone.

Zhenya’s left standing by himself, remains of his hopes in pieces at his feet.

 

***

 

Vero comes out to find him. She takes one look at his face, and her expression falls.

“Oh no, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I’d hoped... well.”

He lets her hug him, and tug him inside to get warm. Zhenya’s hands shake where they clench on the table.

“Look, Zhenya,” Flower’s voice is gentle. “Sid’s...he’s been through the mill with that ex of his. Oona’s mom. He doesn’t trust.”

“Won’t…”Zhenya attempts, then clears his throat roughly. “Won’t bother, if he not want. I’m just really, really l—” He presses his eyes shut, pinches the bridge of his nose so that he doesn’t embarrass himself.

Well. He’s been wrong before. He’d been wrong about Élodie.

“Let’s get you home,” Vero says, and he lets them do so.

 

***

 

Zhenya wonders, later, lying awake on his cot at The Point in the following nights, what he should have done differently. Not shown any interest at all? Let Sid know earlier how he felt? If he’s not only scared Sid off, but utterly ruined the friendship they’d been building. And he thinks of the kiss. Sid had been the one to kiss him. So on some level, Sid wants him.

Just not enough.

He doesn’t feel like going into town, just spends hours out walking the shore, hoping the bite of the wind and the thunder of the water stop his mind from turning in its continuous circles.

It doesn’t help, the fact remains that he’s falling in love with Sid. And it feels so different from the times he’s fallen in love before. It frightens him.

Two weeks after the night at _The Sea Witch_ finds him seated cross-legged at the end of his dock, brooding again. It’s becoming a terrible habit.

He jumps when the sleek head of a seal breaks the surface of the water a couple yards from the end of the dock. The seal looks at him, raising itself up in the water to see  better.

“Sid?” Zhenya says. And he doesn’t know what he’s feeling: relief, or hurt, or frustration. He continues, in Russian, because he’s still upset: “What are you doing here, huh? And what happened that night? I know something went wrong, but I thought at least maybe since we’re friends you would tell me what it was.”

There’s a muffled laugh behind him, and he whips around, to see Sid and Flower standing on the shore, dripping wet with their pelts slung over their shoulders. Flower’s the one who laughed, he realizes.

“Did you think that was one of us?” he calls.

Zhenya turns, and the animal’s disappeared back under the water. When he approaches Sid and Flower, Sid’s expression is inscrutable but Flower grins genially at him.

“Were starting to wonder where you were,” he says. “Decided to come for a visit. I hear things about you putting whisky in your tea?”

“Come on,” Zhenya grumbles, not looking at Sid. “Get out of wet clothes first, okay?” He eyes their soaked clothing, just thin shorts and T-shirts, riddled with little holes from their seal teeth.

“Hey,” Flower jokes cheerfully. “At least we didn’t show up naked!”

Zhenya shakes his head and leads them up the beach, hoping that the flush of his cheeks can be attributed to the windchill.

 

***

 

It’s...awkward. Zhenya digs them out some dry clothes and then has to be subjected to Sid in a soft, worn red flannel shirt of Zhenya’s that sets off his pale skin and dark hair, Sid sitting on Zhenya’s loveseat, Sid drinking tea out of Zhenya’s favorite blue mug with the chip in the handle.

Flower does most of the talking. At least he’s a chatterbox so there aren’t too many loaded silences. Zhenya asks after Oona, because whatever he’s done to his and Sid’s friendship, he still cares about her.

He dutifully doles out the whiskey Flower asked for, and probably drinks a little more than he should. They pan fry some fish they brought along for dinner. Zhenya realizes that they came to visit just too late in the day to safely swim home, and he wonders what the hell Flower’s playing at.  Flower finally manages get Sid talking about fishing quotas, because you can always get Sid talking about fishing quotas.

Due to the limited available furniture Zhenya sprawls back on his cot, and tension or no tension, being comfortable, a little buzzed, and out of his conversational depth means he’s drowsy within minutes.

The conversation slows, Flower and Sid’s words sounding blurred and syrupy as Zhenya begins to fall asleep. They must think he already is, because Zhenya just barely manages to register that their conversation has turned to him.

“Evgeni’s a good guy, Sid. He’s nothing like—”

“Flower. Please, man. Don’t,” Sid sighs.

“I know you like him, more than you let on. You know he likes you too, Sid. A lot.”

There’s a pause, and Zhenya is suddenly, terribly awake.

“Enough to stay?” There’s pain and longing both mingling in Sid’s voice. Zhenya wants desperately to sit up, to beg Sid to believe him when he says he’s fallen for him, hard. That he’ll stay as long as Sid wants him to.

But he wasn’t supposed to hear this conversation, so he tries to keep his breathing even, and just lies there and aches.

“You could ask him,” Flower is saying gently. “You should see the way he looks at you. At Oona. It’s like…”

Another long pause. The fire pops in the woodstove.

“Like he’s found something he’s been looking for forever,” Flower finally says. It’s enough to make Zhenya open his eyes.

Sid has his back to Zhenya, but Flower’s facing him. And he’s looking right at Zhenya, gaze inscrutable and knowing in the flickering firelight. He nods once at Zhenya, then turns his attention back to Sid.

“Anyway, _mon chum_ , we should get some sleep.”

Sleep is one thing Zhenya finds impossible that night.

 

***

 

The next morning is misty and damp. The air smells like snow’s coming.  When Zhenya takes his coffee out on his back porch, there are a couple crows croaking disconsolately in the pines. He can relate.

The iron-gray sky reminds him of Sid’s pelt, and he finds himself wishing he were a selkie too. He’d give Sid his pelt, bind himself to him in a heartbeat. There would be no question of trust then, would there? Because it all distills down to that. Sid might like him, but he doesn’t trust him.

He hears the door open behind him, and he’s not surprised when Sid leans on the railing next to him, gaze on the view of the sea through the trees.

“Flower says I need to need to talk to you,” Sid says quietly. “And Vero says I hurt you.”

Zhenya sighs. “Doesn’t matter, Sid. You allowed to say no, change mind. Hurt or no hurt.”

“You’re my friend,” Sid replies. “Friends don’t hurt each other.”

“All people hurt other people, Sid,” Zhenya says. “Just life. It’s maybe little bit my fault, for wanting be more than friends.”  He’s pretty proud of how reasonable he’s being, when “this was a mistake” is still on loop in his head.

Sid is silent for a long moment. “You smell so sad.”

Something about that just snaps that thread of rationality Zhenya had been clinging to. Unbidden, he thinks of all the times he’d been sent on his way in the morning after, the times someone had slid out of his arms and left him behind. He thinks of the first time he’d spoken to Sid in the diner, how the tenderness of his interactions with his daughter was the first thing that Zhenya had, fuck, fallen in _love_ with.

“Don’t want to be someone’s ‘mistake’, Sid,” he spits out. Sid flinches, and the sight of it bleeds the anger right out of Zhenya again.

“You know what I’m thinking, before you come outside?”

“No,” Sid says, low.

“Wish I’m selkie too. Give my pelt to you, so you don’t have to be scared I’m leave you,” Zhenya says down at his hands.

Sid inhales sharply. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Don’t I?” Zhenya says, turning to face Sid full on for the first time in the whole of their conversation.

Sid’s hazel eyes are wide and troubled. “That’s binding, alright?”

Zhenya growls. “You think I’m just love you? Love you but also love Oona, love Flower and Vero, love others too. Love the water, love the town. Want to _stay_ , Sid. It’s first place I’m be since I’m leave Magnitogorsk that feel. Like. _Home_.” To his shame, his volume has been rising and his eyes feel prickly and hot with unshed tears.

Sids eyes have grown wider and wider throughout the entire outburst and when Zhenya’s through, panting, he waits, desperate to hear what Sid has to say, ready to apologize for getting emotional when—

“You...you love me?” Sid says, voice uncertain and small.

Zhenya stares at him. He hadn’t meant to let that part slip.

“ _Do_ you?”

Zhenya nods. Sid swallows and reaches out, and for some reason tentatively grips the cuff of Zhenya’s jacket, like he wants to touch Zhenya but isn’t sure of his welcome. It’s an almost childlike gesture.

“How long?”

“Tell myself for weeks and weeks that I’m just liking you. But think maybe I’m start fall in love little bit first time we meet.” Zhenya picks up Sid’s hand and presses a kiss to Sid’s work-roughened palm.

“I want—” Sid breathes.

“What you want, Sid?” Zhenya asks. Sid leans forward, and lets Zhenya fold him into his arms.

Zhenya had been right, Sid does fit absolutely perfectly there.

“Can we try?” Sidney says into Zhenya’s coat. “I think I want to try. Is that...okay?”

Zhenya can only nod, and press a yearning, desperate kiss to Sid’s hair.

Sid leans back, takes the front of Zhenya’s coat in his hands, eyes wolf-bright and sharp. “Not a mistake,” Sidney says. “I was wrong. It never was.” And he surges forward, and kisses Zhenya.

Zhenya is so caught up in the euphoria of having Sid’s mouth on his, willing and hot, that he doesn’t even notice the first delicate snowflakes starting to fall all around them.

 

***

 

The latter part of December brings heavy snow and stormy weather. Zhenya’s work out at The Point is essentially stalled until the spring thaw when he needs to ready the house for summer.

He spend the holidays in town. At first he stays at Flower and Vero’s. That lasts less than three days. One night when he’s saying goodbye to Sid after he’d come over for dinner, Sid tightens his arms around Zhenya’s waist and mutters, “you should just come home with me” into his neck.

So Zhenya does, and gets to sleep with Sidney in his arms. When Sidney leaves him in the morning, it’s not for good, it’s just to go to work.

Zhenya gets other things too. He gets to learn Sidney’s body, learn how he likes to be touched. Learn the sounds he makes in pleasure. He gets Sidney, with his habitual intensity, doing the same for him.

He gets to spend social gatherings with an arm around Sidney’s waist, or Sidney’s hand clasped in his under the table. He gets to react to their friends’ teasing with smug pride. He gets Sidney coming up behind him in the kitchen to hook his chin over Zhenya’s shoulder and bug him about what he’s baking.

He gets Oona, too. He gets to wake Oona up in the mornings when she’s sleepy and crabby. She always snuggles into his neck because she’s not ready to wake up, and Zhenya’s chest feels soft and bruised with how much he loves her.

 

***

 

He received an email from his mama, catching him up on the family news, and making gentle inquiries about the fact that he’s still in Nova Scotia. The last few years he’d been especially nomadic. It’s been a long time since he’s stayed this long in one place.

She’s not on social media so she hasn’t guessed what so many of his friends already have. He doesn’t know quite what to say, so he just sends her a photo Kris took the other day, of him and Sid, each holding one of Oona’s hands as they introduce her to ice skates and shinny.

 _Mama_ , he writes back. _I think I’m staying for good._

_I love it here._

 

_***_

  
  
  
  


_One Year Later_

 

They’re driving to the Provincial Court in Dartmouth tomorrow morning, but for a selkie clan, that’s only a necessary legal formality. The ceremony that really means something is today.

Zhenya lets Vero drive to the cove. His hands are shaking too much to take the wheel himself.

The walk down to the sand has never felt so long. Once he gets there, Zhenya takes off his shoes and socks. There’s a loose circle of people and seals hip deep in the water already, waiting. Sid stands at its center, his pelt draped in his arms.

Vero comes up next to Zhenya, and smiles at him before kicking her own shoes off and wading out to where her husband is already standing, with Sid. Zhenya waits on the sand, shivering a little as the wind cuts through the simple white dress shirt he’s wearing.

Sid’s sister calls out from her place in the circle, Oona perched in her arms: “ _Why have you come?_ ” The words are traditional, given in the Scots Gaelic of their ancestors.

Zhenya give her the response he’s agonizingly memorized:  “ _I come to be wed to one of your own._ ” The language is strange on his tongue, but he’s practiced until the words come easily enough.

 _“How do you answer_?” Taylor recites, to Sid this time.

 _“Let him come,_ ” Sid replies, and the circle opens so that Zhenya can step into the water and wade out to stand across from Sid. The water is icy, but he barely feels it. He can only stare at Sid, standing there, waiting for him. The wind is pulling at his hair and his shirt, and the water is foaming about his legs, but Sid is steady, and still.

When Zhenya’s facing him, Sidney holds out his pelt like an offering, palms turned up. And there are more words to say.

“ _Freely, I offer myself to you,_ ” Sidney recites, warmth in his eyes.

If Zhenya were a selkie, he would be handing his own pelt to Sid, but human-and-selkie ceremonies are a little different. He takes Sid’s pelt, fully aware of the significance of it this time. It feels heavy in his arms. He cradles it for a moment, stroking a hand over the beautiful pattern of spots. Then he hands it back to Sid, gently draping it back over his arms.

Zhenya takes a breath. The next words are the most important. _“Only freely would I have you,_ ” he says, looking right into Sid’s eyes. “ _Give me your love and your promise, for this is enough.”_

Sidney’s face breaks into a wide, glowing smile. “ _You have my love, you have my promise,_ ” he says, and Zhenya’s breath catches at the happiness in his voice.

He’s not ashamed that his voice is clogged with tears when he says the final part: “ _And you have my love, you have my promise, and all the rest of my days.”_

Whoops and cheers break out as Zhenya takes Sid’s beloved face in his hands and leans down to kiss him.

“Forever, okay?” Zhenya says.

Sid leans up to kiss him again, and nods.

“Forever.”

Zhenya rests his forehead against Sid’s. Home, right there between his hands. Home, standing in a joyous circle all around them. Home, yelling happily from Taylor’s arms and reaching her hands out to both of her fathers.  

Zhenya’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [werebear ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/werebear/)
> 
> You can find me as [knifeshoeoreofight](http://knifeshoeoreofight.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, and as @RainyForecast on Twitter. Come say hi!
> 
> I plan on posting some content in this 'verse on Tumblr. In particular, posts from Zhenya's Instagram and a soundtrack :)


End file.
